Sitting down to write some queries to a new applicant, I find one of Betka's submissives has a few things to say about what it means to be a good submissive.
Not a bad starting point for what one might want in a submissive, at all. Points 1, 2, and 5 ring out most true for what I want, and 7 and 9 least so, but I'd have to say that all are true for me in some way. (And, every dominant wants something a little different -- and I'd further say wants different from one submissive compared to another.)
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
Sore
I wake up this morning happy and accomplished, but sore everywhere.
There is the spot on my hand where I stupidly tested out that bamboo Saturday, and then another Sunday. (I really don't learn sometimes.) The several spots on my ass where my friend the rat bastard did deep acupressure on me when I was in an ebi and a hogtie yesterday afternoon. Sitting will be very interesting today.
And then there are my arm muscles and my abs, both of which I'm really feeling after my little adventure in self-suspension yesterday. That was quite a workout, and by the end of it I was slick with sweat the way I would be after any day at the gym.
I am delighted to realize that my back and thighs are actually not so sore from the suspension itself. I didn't stay in my two early versions long enough to hurt myself, and the third version was fairly comfortable despite having only four major load bearing bands. Good learning there.
And oh yes, somewhere in there I did a massive load of gardening.
Who needs a gym membership? Give me a suspension point and a spotter. (And have the spotter remind me not to test bamboo on my hand anymore, k? Thanks.)
There is the spot on my hand where I stupidly tested out that bamboo Saturday, and then another Sunday. (I really don't learn sometimes.) The several spots on my ass where my friend the rat bastard did deep acupressure on me when I was in an ebi and a hogtie yesterday afternoon. Sitting will be very interesting today.
And then there are my arm muscles and my abs, both of which I'm really feeling after my little adventure in self-suspension yesterday. That was quite a workout, and by the end of it I was slick with sweat the way I would be after any day at the gym.
I am delighted to realize that my back and thighs are actually not so sore from the suspension itself. I didn't stay in my two early versions long enough to hurt myself, and the third version was fairly comfortable despite having only four major load bearing bands. Good learning there.
And oh yes, somewhere in there I did a massive load of gardening.
Who needs a gym membership? Give me a suspension point and a spotter. (And have the spotter remind me not to test bamboo on my hand anymore, k? Thanks.)
Sunday, April 22, 2007
In which Miriam suspends herself . . .
. . . and lives to tell the tale . . .
Maybe I can blame boredom. Folks were pretty low energy today, and there wasn't a whole lot of tying going on at the time. I was antsy, like a kid whose friends won't come out to play. It might have just been curiosity, or a sense of the perverse.
I'd been half-helping a new SIG member, consulting on some of his ties, when he mentioned, "Last month, some girl suspended herself."
Huh.
Immediately, my mind starts turning this idea over and over, and from the first instant I can tell this is probably a Bad Idea. It's not been too long since I did my first suspension of anyone, you see.
Then I start convincing myself. The guys won't let me fall and crack my head open, right? I mean, I can't actually hurt myself, Pyrate Lass would kill me. The new guy quips that he's a wheelchair salesman, but by this time, it's not deterring me. Those words were there before me, a little gauntlet, a challenge. Moreover, I can almost but not quite see the engineering before me.
By this time, I'm laying out rope.
I started with a hip and crotch harness, which was originally tied off to a couple of garters on my thighs, and then threw in a chest harness (with my hands free, obviously). That worked . . . okay. Not so well. In version 2.0 I'd rigged the thighs through the crotch harness and chest harness. That took a little of the pressure off, but looked ugly.
By then, I really, really wanted this to work. I'd managed to get myself off the ground twice, but it wasn't pretty and I couldn't stay in it more than a few seconds.
Off came most of the ropes. I got the thigh ropes completely off, resecured the crotch ropes, and redid the chest harness with a nice big looped handle in the front. I secured the crotch ropes directly to the chest harness and used them to cinch off the chest ropes so they wouldn't move quite as easily. And then I retied the thighs entirely, making proper cuffs with a square knot and a loop for each. (Once again, I'd screwed up the first time by starting with a larkshead like I do for floor work. I know better, really. Or, I should.)
And then, up again. This time, I got the chest harness nice and secure as I stood. I put my left leg firmly down, and then ran the chest harness rope through the hoop and then through the right thigh harness, and pulleyed that leg up pretty far. Then, I bore down hard to sit up on that right thigh rope as I pulled the rope back through the hoop, and through the left thigh rope, pulleying that one up as well. I secured the ropes with a few passes and then -- Wheeeee!
This one, I could get around in, and I did. My foot found the spanking bench, and I used it to push myself to swing back and forth and twirl a bit. It was awesome.
On the upside, I could really work to my own comfort. While I mean this as no critique of the riggers who've suspended me before, it was an entirely new level of "instant feedback" to feel instantly where any pressure points were and to be able to correct those immediately.
On the downside, I really couldn't let myself fly. I did get a huge endorphin rush, don't get me wrong. Both my rigger's brain and my rope slut brain had to be fully engaged to pull this off. But I couldn't get too loopy, with the challenge of getting myself down safely always at mind. And, I had to do my own aftercare, which was fun. I had really exerted myself, gotten sweaty, and worked out my brain. And, there was the extra adrenalin rush of knowing what I was doing wasn't entirely safe, even though I had a fairly strong looking spotter at hand (who also gave excellent engineering suggestions).
So again, I went to the SIG planning to take it easy and really seriously pushing my edges. Which I'm happy about. I didn't sit outside pouting that my friends didn't come out to play. I made my own game, had a blast, and seemed to amuse a few others in the process.
No matter how tired I am going in, I never leave the SIG disappointed.
Maybe I can blame boredom. Folks were pretty low energy today, and there wasn't a whole lot of tying going on at the time. I was antsy, like a kid whose friends won't come out to play. It might have just been curiosity, or a sense of the perverse.
I'd been half-helping a new SIG member, consulting on some of his ties, when he mentioned, "Last month, some girl suspended herself."
Huh.
Immediately, my mind starts turning this idea over and over, and from the first instant I can tell this is probably a Bad Idea. It's not been too long since I did my first suspension of anyone, you see.
Then I start convincing myself. The guys won't let me fall and crack my head open, right? I mean, I can't actually hurt myself, Pyrate Lass would kill me. The new guy quips that he's a wheelchair salesman, but by this time, it's not deterring me. Those words were there before me, a little gauntlet, a challenge. Moreover, I can almost but not quite see the engineering before me.
By this time, I'm laying out rope.
I started with a hip and crotch harness, which was originally tied off to a couple of garters on my thighs, and then threw in a chest harness (with my hands free, obviously). That worked . . . okay. Not so well. In version 2.0 I'd rigged the thighs through the crotch harness and chest harness. That took a little of the pressure off, but looked ugly.
By then, I really, really wanted this to work. I'd managed to get myself off the ground twice, but it wasn't pretty and I couldn't stay in it more than a few seconds.
Off came most of the ropes. I got the thigh ropes completely off, resecured the crotch ropes, and redid the chest harness with a nice big looped handle in the front. I secured the crotch ropes directly to the chest harness and used them to cinch off the chest ropes so they wouldn't move quite as easily. And then I retied the thighs entirely, making proper cuffs with a square knot and a loop for each. (Once again, I'd screwed up the first time by starting with a larkshead like I do for floor work. I know better, really. Or, I should.)
And then, up again. This time, I got the chest harness nice and secure as I stood. I put my left leg firmly down, and then ran the chest harness rope through the hoop and then through the right thigh harness, and pulleyed that leg up pretty far. Then, I bore down hard to sit up on that right thigh rope as I pulled the rope back through the hoop, and through the left thigh rope, pulleying that one up as well. I secured the ropes with a few passes and then -- Wheeeee!
This one, I could get around in, and I did. My foot found the spanking bench, and I used it to push myself to swing back and forth and twirl a bit. It was awesome.
On the upside, I could really work to my own comfort. While I mean this as no critique of the riggers who've suspended me before, it was an entirely new level of "instant feedback" to feel instantly where any pressure points were and to be able to correct those immediately.
On the downside, I really couldn't let myself fly. I did get a huge endorphin rush, don't get me wrong. Both my rigger's brain and my rope slut brain had to be fully engaged to pull this off. But I couldn't get too loopy, with the challenge of getting myself down safely always at mind. And, I had to do my own aftercare, which was fun. I had really exerted myself, gotten sweaty, and worked out my brain. And, there was the extra adrenalin rush of knowing what I was doing wasn't entirely safe, even though I had a fairly strong looking spotter at hand (who also gave excellent engineering suggestions).
So again, I went to the SIG planning to take it easy and really seriously pushing my edges. Which I'm happy about. I didn't sit outside pouting that my friends didn't come out to play. I made my own game, had a blast, and seemed to amuse a few others in the process.
No matter how tired I am going in, I never leave the SIG disappointed.
Kink permaculture
A friend came up to me excitedly last night. "Oh, Miriam, I have something for you." The something turned out to be several lengths of bamboo that he'd salvaged from an art project, and thought I could turn into canes or whatnot.
I honestly don't know if they'll make good canes, although I'm chasing up some articles on cane making to see. I'm concerned that they're regular bamboo and not specifically rattan. This other site suggests that because bamboo is hollow, it's only a good choice for very light or medium play, and that hard play might split the cane and create instant and razor-sharp edges. Given that I have broken some of the canes on my birch bundles over asses, this might not be a good idea for me . . .
If they won't work for that, I'll probably cut them to lengths for use in rope play. One of my friends and mentors does amazing things with bamboo, creating extra columns, bamboo bit gags, and other toys that look just gorgeous with rope. And I hope to see him today. So perhaps that's the better way to go. We'll see.
So, I don't know what I'll do with it yet, but I love that my friend thought of me. Another friend may gift me with her (rather large) dog crate when her dog outgrows it. Neither of these folks are in the scene, but they're my friends and they're supportive.
Out of the blue yesterday, I got an amazing and touching gift. A friend who demo bottomed for me at the auction last month hand crafted a magickal oil for me to say thanks.
I started this entry to talk about the canes, but the more I write the more I touch on something else. And that's the value of being open.
It's a fine line I walk. I want to be open and honest about my life, and I don't want to squick anyone.
My friend with the puppy cage is an excellent barometer. I think I've erred on the side of TMI in the past, and also wrestled with the temptation to give too little information - so little information that she might not understand the landscape of my life and relationships. Slowly I've learned to give her a broad overview. She can know that I'm negotiating with a service submissive without knowing the details of our contract. She can know what's going on with Pyrate Lass without having to know exactly how we play. And she gets the really good stories, the ones I can tell without too much squickage and play for laughs.
In my magickal community, I really can't talk about my magickal practice without talking about rope. Rope is in part something I am working with as a magickal tool. And so I try to push my edges, and my community's edges, gently. I can show off my rope work making art projects, or helping ease a donated refrigerator down a ramp. And when it was appropriate I did use my chest-tying powers for good at auction, pushing the envelope just enough and I think safely for everyone. But this is part of being seen.
There are places where I really feel no need to be out of the closet. I can't see a benefit of speaking about these things at work, for example. (The tradeoff, of course, is that I don't have close friends from work, either.) But mostly, I need to be seen to make connection. Rope, play and D/s are major parts of my life, and aspects that are pretty important to really knowing me. They're not all of my life -- you get fair amounts of magick and gardening and music geekery, too -- but they're also not just side interests.
And the gifts of that are that you make real friends and real connections. Sometimes those gifts are very tangible. It's Earth Day - reuse, reduce and recycle, and all that. In the garden, I am always taking on things that would otherwise be trash -- newspapers, cardboard, coffee grounds -- and turning them into productive garden beds. These gifts are the same to me, a little kink permaculture. That bamboo, that puppy cage? Both would otherwise have been trash or garage junk to someone. But to me, they are both useful and also signifiers that my practice itself has value in my friends' eyes, and that they recognize kink as important to me in the same sense my gardening is. That's no small thing.
I honestly don't know if they'll make good canes, although I'm chasing up some articles on cane making to see. I'm concerned that they're regular bamboo and not specifically rattan. This other site suggests that because bamboo is hollow, it's only a good choice for very light or medium play, and that hard play might split the cane and create instant and razor-sharp edges. Given that I have broken some of the canes on my birch bundles over asses, this might not be a good idea for me . . .
If they won't work for that, I'll probably cut them to lengths for use in rope play. One of my friends and mentors does amazing things with bamboo, creating extra columns, bamboo bit gags, and other toys that look just gorgeous with rope. And I hope to see him today. So perhaps that's the better way to go. We'll see.
So, I don't know what I'll do with it yet, but I love that my friend thought of me. Another friend may gift me with her (rather large) dog crate when her dog outgrows it. Neither of these folks are in the scene, but they're my friends and they're supportive.
Out of the blue yesterday, I got an amazing and touching gift. A friend who demo bottomed for me at the auction last month hand crafted a magickal oil for me to say thanks.
I started this entry to talk about the canes, but the more I write the more I touch on something else. And that's the value of being open.
It's a fine line I walk. I want to be open and honest about my life, and I don't want to squick anyone.
My friend with the puppy cage is an excellent barometer. I think I've erred on the side of TMI in the past, and also wrestled with the temptation to give too little information - so little information that she might not understand the landscape of my life and relationships. Slowly I've learned to give her a broad overview. She can know that I'm negotiating with a service submissive without knowing the details of our contract. She can know what's going on with Pyrate Lass without having to know exactly how we play. And she gets the really good stories, the ones I can tell without too much squickage and play for laughs.
In my magickal community, I really can't talk about my magickal practice without talking about rope. Rope is in part something I am working with as a magickal tool. And so I try to push my edges, and my community's edges, gently. I can show off my rope work making art projects, or helping ease a donated refrigerator down a ramp. And when it was appropriate I did use my chest-tying powers for good at auction, pushing the envelope just enough and I think safely for everyone. But this is part of being seen.
There are places where I really feel no need to be out of the closet. I can't see a benefit of speaking about these things at work, for example. (The tradeoff, of course, is that I don't have close friends from work, either.) But mostly, I need to be seen to make connection. Rope, play and D/s are major parts of my life, and aspects that are pretty important to really knowing me. They're not all of my life -- you get fair amounts of magick and gardening and music geekery, too -- but they're also not just side interests.
And the gifts of that are that you make real friends and real connections. Sometimes those gifts are very tangible. It's Earth Day - reuse, reduce and recycle, and all that. In the garden, I am always taking on things that would otherwise be trash -- newspapers, cardboard, coffee grounds -- and turning them into productive garden beds. These gifts are the same to me, a little kink permaculture. That bamboo, that puppy cage? Both would otherwise have been trash or garage junk to someone. But to me, they are both useful and also signifiers that my practice itself has value in my friends' eyes, and that they recognize kink as important to me in the same sense my gardening is. That's no small thing.
Friday, April 20, 2007
TwistedMonkTV
If you liked Monk's lovely instructional videos from the Twisted Monk website, you're going to love his new YouTube section.
If you act now, you get ten new instructional videos, including the body harness, the hog tie, and a chest and leg harness.
But wait! There's still more! If you act now, you get Monk's hair tie absolutely free!
Now how much would you pay?
Well, the answer is free!* That's right, just direct your browser to "TwistedMonkCom" on YouTube and you get all these videos and more absolutely free!
* Rope not included. Offer not available in all states. Must be able to at least tie your shoes. Must be 18 or over and of legal age to watch rope videos to qualify. 14.4k modems are unlikely to display videos correctly. Pyrate Lasses pay a surcharge of learning to tie your Daddy up for Teh Hott Sex. Ties as shown may not hold effectively under nylon rope. See TwistedMonk.com for further details.
If you act now, you get ten new instructional videos, including the body harness, the hog tie, and a chest and leg harness.
But wait! There's still more! If you act now, you get Monk's hair tie absolutely free!
Now how much would you pay?
Well, the answer is free!* That's right, just direct your browser to "TwistedMonkCom" on YouTube and you get all these videos and more absolutely free!
* Rope not included. Offer not available in all states. Must be able to at least tie your shoes. Must be 18 or over and of legal age to watch rope videos to qualify. 14.4k modems are unlikely to display videos correctly. Pyrate Lasses pay a surcharge of learning to tie your Daddy up for Teh Hott Sex. Ties as shown may not hold effectively under nylon rope. See TwistedMonk.com for further details.
Going sideways, part 93
We didn't go to the party last weekend. We'd already decided to play whether or not we went out, and do to a bit of practice for the SiG. So we stayed in and Pyrate Lass spoiled me silly with home cooked food, a pedicure, and lovely blue toenails painted to match the kimono.
We did our practice for the SIG. And then the lass, being the extremely helpful and sweet thing she is, offered to beat me.
Confused yet? Eh, don't be. The way I figure it, if I'm the daddy I can ask to have my toenails painted and my ass tanned to match, which is in fact what I needed. I'm a dominant sadomasochist, and my girl is a submissive sadist who loves to please me. Once she reckoned I could use a beating, she set out to give me one at every opportunity. She's a very good girl, if disappointed that she didn't leave my ass bruised.
Then there was rope School, in which we learned the ins and outs of cock bondage. More on that, and more on going sideways, to come . . .
We did our practice for the SIG. And then the lass, being the extremely helpful and sweet thing she is, offered to beat me.
Confused yet? Eh, don't be. The way I figure it, if I'm the daddy I can ask to have my toenails painted and my ass tanned to match, which is in fact what I needed. I'm a dominant sadomasochist, and my girl is a submissive sadist who loves to please me. Once she reckoned I could use a beating, she set out to give me one at every opportunity. She's a very good girl, if disappointed that she didn't leave my ass bruised.
Then there was rope School, in which we learned the ins and outs of cock bondage. More on that, and more on going sideways, to come . . .
Friday, April 13, 2007
Costuming
As my darling friend and fellow Leo says, "Sometimes, it's all about the costuming."
I've been pretty low energy this month. I have a fair amount of stress hitting on all fronts. And so, I've been pretty ambivalent about whether or not to go to a play party this weekend. (The SIG? That's not in question. I never miss School if I can avoid missing.)
I've been in cranky Daddy mood for days; being on my period does not at all help. So the idea of going to the party has alternated between feeling like a lot of fun and like a lot of work: the packing (which I always enjoy once I start, but was cranky about ahead of time), the planning (ditto), and also the costuming. I had finally decided on a leather top that didn't quite reach my leather skirt, not least because the idea of any kind of cincher or corset made my cramps twinge.
In the course of doing other packing this morning, I noticed the kimono. I never wear the kimono. Mostly, it's just cheesy for most Western rope artists to wear a kimono, for reasons Graydancer lampooned brilliantly at his ARS2 keynote last year. I am not a 'nawashi,' and I don't want to pretend to be one. But worn with that in mind, it's also camp, and I just haven't been in the mood to do camp for a while.
But there it was. Oh so pretty, in a fake kimono kind of way. Lovely with the custom obi a friend made me. And . . . gods it looks so comfortable.
I've been idly thinking for days that I do want to do to the party, but I don't want to work. I don't particularly feel like doing a huge caning scene, or having to discipline anyone. Mostly, I want to sit around and talk with kinky friends, perhaps while idly tying up a pretty girl or two. And then, I want to sit in the hot tub.
So yes, the kimono went into the bag.
And I have to say: sometimes it really is all about the costuming. I am feeling much more like I want to go to the party now than I did before, when I was contemplating the Fuckoff Boots and the little leather skirt. Odd thing, that.
I've been pretty low energy this month. I have a fair amount of stress hitting on all fronts. And so, I've been pretty ambivalent about whether or not to go to a play party this weekend. (The SIG? That's not in question. I never miss School if I can avoid missing.)
I've been in cranky Daddy mood for days; being on my period does not at all help. So the idea of going to the party has alternated between feeling like a lot of fun and like a lot of work: the packing (which I always enjoy once I start, but was cranky about ahead of time), the planning (ditto), and also the costuming. I had finally decided on a leather top that didn't quite reach my leather skirt, not least because the idea of any kind of cincher or corset made my cramps twinge.
In the course of doing other packing this morning, I noticed the kimono. I never wear the kimono. Mostly, it's just cheesy for most Western rope artists to wear a kimono, for reasons Graydancer lampooned brilliantly at his ARS2 keynote last year. I am not a 'nawashi,' and I don't want to pretend to be one. But worn with that in mind, it's also camp, and I just haven't been in the mood to do camp for a while.
But there it was. Oh so pretty, in a fake kimono kind of way. Lovely with the custom obi a friend made me. And . . . gods it looks so comfortable.
I've been idly thinking for days that I do want to do to the party, but I don't want to work. I don't particularly feel like doing a huge caning scene, or having to discipline anyone. Mostly, I want to sit around and talk with kinky friends, perhaps while idly tying up a pretty girl or two. And then, I want to sit in the hot tub.
So yes, the kimono went into the bag.
And I have to say: sometimes it really is all about the costuming. I am feeling much more like I want to go to the party now than I did before, when I was contemplating the Fuckoff Boots and the little leather skirt. Odd thing, that.
Community
I've been threatening for months to write a big rant on Why We Do This Work in Community (whether I'm going to write this about the kink community, poly community, pagan community or some combination, I've not yet determined).
In the meantime, Mistress Matisse lays down some of the high points.
One part rang particularly true for me:
I hadn't given that any thought before, but it seems blindingly obvious now she's pointed it out.
But that was just my ephiphany; the rest starts getting into the whys and wherefores. Go read. Particularly if you're not a pagan/queer/poly/whatever person for whom working in community seems pretty obvious.
In the meantime, Mistress Matisse lays down some of the high points.
One part rang particularly true for me:
Some people take the information I give them and run with it, and I've observed something about them: They're usually different in some way aside from being kinky. Like pagans, or poly people, or—especially—queer people. Queer people have often already gone through the process of finding and participating in the queer community, and they know that when you have a nonmainstream sexuality, you're going to structure some of your life choices around it. So my advice makes sense to them.
I hadn't given that any thought before, but it seems blindingly obvious now she's pointed it out.
But that was just my ephiphany; the rest starts getting into the whys and wherefores. Go read. Particularly if you're not a pagan/queer/poly/whatever person for whom working in community seems pretty obvious.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Packing
I have to say, I love packing day.
First, let me back up a bit.
I think when it comes down to it for me, the difference between seeing kinky and non-kinky folks is in the planning. It seems to me that many non-kinky folks (and especially non-kinky women) value a "spontanaeity" that is in fact very structured: a highly orchestrated dance of getting it on while pretending you never really intended to. And that's a very hard game for me to play.
Me? I love planning ahead.
First, I like the honesty of it. I like play; you like play; let's get together and play. And wouldn't it be even more fun with a bit of thinking ahead? For lack of a better word, there's something innocent in it.
As a magickal person, I'm fond of how it sets my Will. I put my desire toward an intent, and things follow in that direction. Now, that's not to say things might not change my desire in the interim. I could get sick, or have a terrible night. Bad news could come. My energy might be off. There are a million legitimate reasons I might plan with the best of intentions to play, and not have it come off. That said, I feel better off going in with Will than without it.
I like the way that planning ahead gets my mood revved for days ahead. It's taken me a while to reclaim my sex drive; even now that I have a fairly high one, it's not a bad thing for me to go through a day or a few (or perhaps even months) thinking about an upcoming play date. On weeks when I might feel emotionally down or physically under the weather, such revving might help me "get there", as compared to counting on a "spontaneous" desire that will never come.
Of course, the architect in me likes the scheming. Hmmm. Shall we do some wax play? Shall I use my knife? Ooooh! The bondage tape! Yes, I'll pack that. There's something about the sheer act of having to pack when I go out of town that helps me narrow things down. I can't pack my full arsenal these days; paring down goes hand in hand with intention setting.
So yes: here I am on packing day. I am freshly shaven, and have had a bit of a spa day. I have packed the Fuckoff Boots. I have plans for the SIG, and for some other play. And I'm wearing a big old Daddy's grin on my face.
First, let me back up a bit.
I think when it comes down to it for me, the difference between seeing kinky and non-kinky folks is in the planning. It seems to me that many non-kinky folks (and especially non-kinky women) value a "spontanaeity" that is in fact very structured: a highly orchestrated dance of getting it on while pretending you never really intended to. And that's a very hard game for me to play.
Me? I love planning ahead.
First, I like the honesty of it. I like play; you like play; let's get together and play. And wouldn't it be even more fun with a bit of thinking ahead? For lack of a better word, there's something innocent in it.
As a magickal person, I'm fond of how it sets my Will. I put my desire toward an intent, and things follow in that direction. Now, that's not to say things might not change my desire in the interim. I could get sick, or have a terrible night. Bad news could come. My energy might be off. There are a million legitimate reasons I might plan with the best of intentions to play, and not have it come off. That said, I feel better off going in with Will than without it.
I like the way that planning ahead gets my mood revved for days ahead. It's taken me a while to reclaim my sex drive; even now that I have a fairly high one, it's not a bad thing for me to go through a day or a few (or perhaps even months) thinking about an upcoming play date. On weeks when I might feel emotionally down or physically under the weather, such revving might help me "get there", as compared to counting on a "spontaneous" desire that will never come.
Of course, the architect in me likes the scheming. Hmmm. Shall we do some wax play? Shall I use my knife? Ooooh! The bondage tape! Yes, I'll pack that. There's something about the sheer act of having to pack when I go out of town that helps me narrow things down. I can't pack my full arsenal these days; paring down goes hand in hand with intention setting.
So yes: here I am on packing day. I am freshly shaven, and have had a bit of a spa day. I have packed the Fuckoff Boots. I have plans for the SIG, and for some other play. And I'm wearing a big old Daddy's grin on my face.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Clothespins, and the decline of the American grocery
What is it with grocery stores these days?
Granted, I did discover a new all-organic mac n' cheese last night. For which they are partially forgiven. But what is with not having proper clothespins?
You see, I go through clothespins like other folks go through paper towels. They are a basic, replacable staple of the house. I use an awful lot of them for pinning everything from clothing and garden items to skin, nipples, boy bits and labia. I prefer wooden ones: they are comparatively gentle, cheap, and appeal to my eco-consciousness.* And, did I mention cheap? Which is good. Because after a while, I just can't be bothered to keep track of exactly whose labia and boy bits and skin those pins have been on, which means it's time to retire them to the garden or throw them out all together.
Which leads to last night, at which time I was happily navigating the grocery to find only very small packages of little nasty plastic clothespins. Hmph. That will never do.
Thankfully I needed to make a trip to the general store, anyway. They not only have 100-count bags of wooden clothespins, but rope and horse-training implements.
But while I'm at it, what is it with some grocery stores not having latex-free condoms? What if I have a condom emergency, huh?! (You never know when you'll suddenly have a condom emergency!) And glycerine-free lube? And . . .
* Wooden pins don't use petroleum products, and you can compost them if you take out the metal hinge of the pins. Yes, I am that crunchy granola; just don't take my leather away.
Granted, I did discover a new all-organic mac n' cheese last night. For which they are partially forgiven. But what is with not having proper clothespins?
You see, I go through clothespins like other folks go through paper towels. They are a basic, replacable staple of the house. I use an awful lot of them for pinning everything from clothing and garden items to skin, nipples, boy bits and labia. I prefer wooden ones: they are comparatively gentle, cheap, and appeal to my eco-consciousness.* And, did I mention cheap? Which is good. Because after a while, I just can't be bothered to keep track of exactly whose labia and boy bits and skin those pins have been on, which means it's time to retire them to the garden or throw them out all together.
Which leads to last night, at which time I was happily navigating the grocery to find only very small packages of little nasty plastic clothespins. Hmph. That will never do.
Thankfully I needed to make a trip to the general store, anyway. They not only have 100-count bags of wooden clothespins, but rope and horse-training implements.
But while I'm at it, what is it with some grocery stores not having latex-free condoms? What if I have a condom emergency, huh?! (You never know when you'll suddenly have a condom emergency!) And glycerine-free lube? And . . .
* Wooden pins don't use petroleum products, and you can compost them if you take out the metal hinge of the pins. Yes, I am that crunchy granola; just don't take my leather away.
Saturday, April 7, 2007
4mm
I often say I tie like a girl. It's my gentle way of tweaking the good ol' boy riggers I consider my friends and mentors. I say that I tie like a girl, but tying like a girl has helped me at things from hoisting girls into suspension to safely getting refrigerators down a ramp without anyone getting hurt.
But next week, I am especially proud to tie like a girl. It's CBT day at the Houston Rope SIG, and several of the regulars are (regretfully, if not surprisingly) backing out. Me? I'd say I'll be there "with bells on", but the last time I said that one of my sicko friends showed up with sisal and a cow bell.
I've been looking forward to this for weeks. Despite being a top, my sweetie with an attached penis is going to let me lay on the 4mm rope I processed. I love that man.
And I think I'm going to ask my girl to show off how to make a dildo harness (that's her work above). That should be fun and interesting for all, even the easily-squicked-by-boy-bits. Those boys always seem intrigued by someone who can fuck like a girl, too . . .
But next week, I am especially proud to tie like a girl. It's CBT day at the Houston Rope SIG, and several of the regulars are (regretfully, if not surprisingly) backing out. Me? I'd say I'll be there "with bells on", but the last time I said that one of my sicko friends showed up with sisal and a cow bell.
I've been looking forward to this for weeks. Despite being a top, my sweetie with an attached penis is going to let me lay on the 4mm rope I processed. I love that man.
And I think I'm going to ask my girl to show off how to make a dildo harness (that's her work above). That should be fun and interesting for all, even the easily-squicked-by-boy-bits. Those boys always seem intrigued by someone who can fuck like a girl, too . . .
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
Quietude, and ending it
No, I am not in fact dead or vanilla, just spending a lot of time away from the computer. I've actually had a pretty yummy and kinky time over the last few days.
Among other things, I got to auction off some of my handprocessed rope (and lessons on how to use it) for charity, which was fantastic. A friend and co-teacher of mine offered herself as my demo bottom, and to both of our surprise she went into subspace in the middle of my very short demo. It was lovely, and a lot of fun. And, I made some money for a (non-kink) organization I deeply love.
I also got in a surprising amount of play considering that I was volunteering in a nominally non-kink (but 100% Freak Nation) space. There was the D/s flirting in the kitchen, my demo, my helping another friend demo flogging techniques, and lots and lots of silly drive-by ass smackings. Oh, and the darling friend from out of town who left me black and blue with a riding crop. I love my friends.
So, that should hopefully dispell any rumors. I haven't suddenly gone non-kinky; I just haven't had a spare second to write.
Which will be changing soon, I suspect. I have a fair amount on the horizon to write about. Never rains but it pours, I tell you.
Among other things, I got to auction off some of my handprocessed rope (and lessons on how to use it) for charity, which was fantastic. A friend and co-teacher of mine offered herself as my demo bottom, and to both of our surprise she went into subspace in the middle of my very short demo. It was lovely, and a lot of fun. And, I made some money for a (non-kink) organization I deeply love.
I also got in a surprising amount of play considering that I was volunteering in a nominally non-kink (but 100% Freak Nation) space. There was the D/s flirting in the kitchen, my demo, my helping another friend demo flogging techniques, and lots and lots of silly drive-by ass smackings. Oh, and the darling friend from out of town who left me black and blue with a riding crop. I love my friends.
So, that should hopefully dispell any rumors. I haven't suddenly gone non-kinky; I just haven't had a spare second to write.
Which will be changing soon, I suspect. I have a fair amount on the horizon to write about. Never rains but it pours, I tell you.
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